


When Zenyatta Was Beige

by snickering_lemon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Angst, Human Experimentation, Minor Character Death, Omnic Racism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence, family development, its technically omnic experimentation, zenyatta wasnt always a calm tranquil omnic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 15:23:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9498167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snickering_lemon/pseuds/snickering_lemon
Summary: He didn't always have a name, not a real one.But he /was/ once called Beige, a long time ago.A sweet little name.This is the story about Zenyatta before he became Zenyatta, when was known as "SC01" by many, yet called "Beige" by one.This is his story.(will update tags as this goes on)





	

**Author's Note:**

> ive seen a lot of stories about genji's life, his beginning and present, all which include zenyatta. im a sucker for those, of course, but i couldn't help but want a story about zenyatta himself, and his beginning and present. all of this is my own original idea, none of it really canon based. trust me though, it's dramatic. its also on the basis that omnics can be children, in the sense they were made with less materials and are far less complex than an "adult" omnic. and yes, beige is zenyatta in this.

            Soft feather-light flakes of snow drifted towards the earth, the wind gathering each lone flake and guiding it to the left. Then to the right, then back again. They danced, twirling and embracing, mother wind carrying infant snow. She carried them in her arms, never once ceasing her methodical movements with each speck, never once favoring one over the other. She did not allow them to simply fall to the ground, but instead lulled them into a gentle landing that only Mother Nature’s soft hand could accomplish.

            To see the touch of Mother Nature so graceful, capable of handling a fragile little cluster of crystal snow without damaging it, it left Mondatta awe-stricken.

             She calls upon the heavens above for more, for the snowflakes to fall thicker, heavier, yet not allowing their increased weight to deter her from dancing with them. Together, they form a blanket. Together, they hide the ugliness that has the audacity to grace her beautiful planet.

            The blanket is used to comfort the puffy eyed and heart shattered humans and omnics alike residing in Nepal, the wind wiping their tears away and brushing her ghostly hands over their faces and shoulders. She gives to them a blanket, and takes away the wandering souls of their loved ones.

            Where blood stains crisp white snow, more flakes fall to cover it up. Where corpses covered in sheets to spare watery eyes the fate of meeting vacant stares, snow moves quickly to cover up the staggering tracks left behind. Already working to try and hide the fact that any horrific event had happened, falling on the shoulders and backs of humans and omnics to blanket them as well and let them know that everything will be okay.

            The descent from the heavens to the ground is a long one for each flake, and as Mother Nature has existed alongside time, she must surely know that it will take a while before her actions are appreciated. Before humans forget of the ghastly turnabouts in their lives.

            Mondatta hopes Mother Nature is understanding.

            Because right now, he is not. He does not understand, and does not believe he will ever grow to understand these things no matter how many times he sees it happen. No matter how many times he hears about it on the news, or in articles.

            He knows what happened, but he does not know why.

            Without intention of offending Mother Nature, Mondatta wipes away the flakes collecting at his shoulders. She brushes his cheeks with soft wind to let him know that she knows, and she accepts.

            No other human or omnic walks lone on this day. Hands hold each other with the unspoken plea to ground one another, to help each other get through this without collapsing.

            Mondatta’s walking pace is a calm one, yet he is anything but. His inner workings whir, heating his insides with the strength it exerts to keep him walking, thinking, functioning. He overheats, but has never felt colder in his life.

            He is the standing ground beneath the feet of every omnic around the globe, and at the same time he is the heaven that desperate hands and straining fingers reach for. Eyes and lights and slits gaze at him from below, seeking guidance and protection from every movement and word he gives. They find reason to live from him, reason to believe that there is end to darkness and hope for all. He is their father, and they his children.

            It is because of this, that Mondatta holds his own trembling hands level with his abdomen and does not ask for the assistance of others. He knows that there is no one around in any condition to provide emotional assistance without receiving the same.

            He expected it before he left the monastery. He expected it before he left his own room.

            Mondatta has not much a chance to take in the sight of bodies and tears and blood and _bodies_ and faces wrinkled with distraught. All too soon, omnics and humans free of physical wounds come to him, begging him to do something about what has already been done. Blood marks their fingers, faces, and abdomens.

            They plead him to do another speech, claiming the world needs another reminder of their cause.

            With a fleeting glance to the people on their knees, weeping into their hands and dragging the dead into respectable shelters where they will be cleansed before being buried, Mondatta agrees.

            He walks around and gives everyone what they need.

            Words of encouragement.

            Promises.

            Blessings.

            Comforting touches.

            Apologies.

            He gives them all he has and receives thanks. It is all he needs.

            Hours later, the town is cleared of death, and Mondatta retires to his monastery with the rest of his omnic and human brothers and sisters.

            Mother Nature does the rest of the work.

\---------------

            BREAKING NEWS: SEVERAL DEAD IN NEPAL MASS SHOOTING, ATTACK AGAINST OMNICS AND OMNIC SYMPATHIZERS. SHOOTERS ARRESTED. 4 INJURED, 13 DECEASED. 7 SHAMBALI MEMBERS KILLED.

\---------------

             The television in the monastery, always used to keep everyone informed on current events, is kept off for the following week.

            Grief keeps Nepal silent

            The rest of the world trembles with noise and outrage.

            Protesters take to the streets, making their obvious displeasure known. Many more omnics and humans have gone on strike and refused to offer their services. Omnics do so in order to make their point known that they will _not_ continue to work in a system corrupt enough to expect the services of an omnic yet not even grant them the most basic of human rights. As if they were factory machines. Humans have gone on strike alongside them, in support of their movement.

            While some stay quiet and protest silently, others are screaming and chanting, holding picket signs well above their heads and covering street and building walls with posters supporting their movement. While some may think that bravery is what leads them to yell and fight back against the violence omnics face, they are far wrong.

            It is fear. Fear, confusion, hurt, and anger.  

            Bravery is to have the readiness to put one’s self in danger for a reason one deems worthy. When omnic and human join hands and stand for the right for omnics to live freely, they are never ready for the violence that they may encounter. Not one of them feels brave. They just feel tired and desperate.

            No one knows this better than Mondatta. While the television was kept off to keep anyone from having to see the violence around the world that has sparked up in response to the tragedy in Nepal, along with images and news reports on the event that took place in their home, Mondatta still needed to find a way to keep up with current events.

            The newspaper had to suffice. Mondatta knelt on the cold hard concrete of the steps leading up to the monastery, ignoring the chill of the Nepali winter air in favor of silently reading the newspaper he held.

            So much death. So much violence.

            But amongst the death and violence that came with those fighting for their rights, Mondatta saw the first beginnings of light within all of this darkness.

            A homeless shelter, and an orphanage.

            It was two functions in one building, but, that is not what had Mondatta’s attention.

            This homeless shelter and orphanage was for omnics. The first ever in history to be built, in America of all places. He had expected Numbani to do something like this. It was…a pleasant surprise.

            Sitting up straighter and suddenly far more alert than when he first came outside, Mondatta began to read the passage.

             ‘ _It is no surprise that omnics face cruelty around every corner, especially after speaking up about their want for rights and to be seen as people. Some humans support them, some don’t. While everyone is allowed their own opinion-,_ ’

            Mondatta fought back a noise of displeasure.

            ‘ _-we, at Minnesota, agree that the weather conditions in our state are inappropriate to live in on the streets. For omnics and humans. It has taken the better part of a year, but we are proud to announce that the brand new Circuits Homeless Shelter and Orphanage is now open and accepting to any and all omnics in need of a place to live. We also do our best to help young omnics find foster and forever homes_.’

            The picture beneath the passage displays a crowd of adult humans and omnics, and in front of them, the smallest omnics Mondatta has ever seen, bundled up in what looks to be thick layers of scarves and jackets. They stand in front of the shelter.

            Mondatta continues to read, hope beginning to blossom underneath the ice that had been previously coating his insides from the past days’ events.

This could very well be the evidence of all their progress within the omnic community. A building, dedicated to giving omnics a place to live and a chance to find homes and families.

He reads on, but there was only one thought buzzing around the walls of his mind.

            He is going to do his speech in Minnesota, right in front of Circuits Homeless Shelter and Orphanage, and he will do his best to help in any way, shape, or form that he can. He will not let the omnics living there lose hope.

            The following images showed only the structure and inside of the shelter, so with a determined hum, Mondatta closed the newspaper and began to stand up. There was a bounce to his step as he began his ascent up the steps leading into the building he himself called home.

            Yes. This was going to be great. There was no place better to give his so desperately needed speech.

\---------------

            “Master, forgive me for the cruelty of my words, but- Have you lost your marbles?”

            The exclamation did little to deter Mondatta, he even laughed. His students sat on their knees, hands politely set atop their laps. He sat with them, a few candles in the center of the circle they formed together lit up the dark room.

            “I was not aware I had any marbles to begin with, Nalin.” His words are soft, full of content and love for each of his students alike. After the news he had heard of the step forward in normalizing the positive treatment of omnics, he had been in high spirits. A few of his students chuckle at his response, quiet, but he sees they all hold their bodies in varying degrees of tenseness.

            His spoken student, a young 14 year old Nepali boy with a permanently split lip, gives him an exasperated sigh.

            “I am beginning to believe the same thing, master.”

            His older sister, Shaili, keeps her hands politely on her lap even as she roughly elbows him in the side. Nalin winces but bows his head apologetically, even if his lips stretch into a grin and his eyes crinkle at the edges.

            “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go to America right now, Master Mondatta.” All eyes turn to one of Mondatta’s many omnic students, their head hunched into their shoulders with uncertainty. Despite their hesitance, they still meet Mondatta’s cool gaze with their own. “America,” They begin, rubbing their palms up and down their thighs. “, it seems rather dangerous for our kind in this moment.”

            Murmurs of agreement come from all surrounding monks.

            “Then it is reasonable that I begin my trek there as soon as possible to plant the seed of hope and acceptance and allow it to sprout within the nation.”

            “But what if they don’t want to listen?” Another one of Mondatta’s omnic students speaks up, this one much larger than most. Bulkier in form and the sensor slits at their face forwards slanting, the outer end tips curling upwards; mimicking feminine lashes. Four lights don their forehead, positioned in a cross shape.

            “We have come across many who turn a deaf ear, if we encounter people of the same caliber, then we deal with it as we always have and continue onwards.”

            His students begin to murmur amongst themselves once more, pointing out to their teacher that if violence has found its way in quiet little Nepal, then surely it must be worse in the other countries.

            It is a valid point, but Mondatta finds he does not care enough to let it discourage him from giving his speech in his destined location.

            “You are all my students, those who I can very well call my children,” He begins, drawing silence into their formed circle. Eyes and slits stare up at him. “, you all must know that I care dearly for each and every one of you, to have taken you in with open arms and guided each of you individually on your own separate paths. But I must extend my words to those outside of Nepal, to those who may very well need it as desperately as some of you may had.” His fingers interlace atop his lap, patient and silent as he looks over his many beloved students.

            “It is my duty and responsibility and within my morality that we help those in need. That we give them the words that help others up onto their feet.”

            Silence. Then,

            “Master, you are as stubborn as you are wise.”

            Shaili elbows Nalin once more, making the circle chuckle quietly.

            Their meditation passes by with the hours, but when the group disperses, uncertain and reluctant glances are shared amongst the students.

            Without any words, they all share the fear that their beloved teacher has signed himself off to his early retirement to his death bed in Minnesota.

\---------------

            “Shush now, you’re okay. Shh. Stay with me.”

            Tiny silver hands can do little but barely hold on to the woman’s rumpled olive green sweater with a barely-there grasp, head lolling back whenever not supported by the female’s hand. Small cries as weak as the omnic’s grip have her lips pulling into a frown.

            “Please….’wanna sleep...please.”

            He has been begging all day, only getting worse when the night rolled around and the conditions made it all the more difficult for the little thing to stay awake. His internal clock blared at him, screaming at him to sleep, to go unconscious, to _rest_.

            But he was not allowed to.

            He cannot remember ever resting.

            “One day, one day you can sleep.” A promise stuck on repeat that only serves to make the small thing cry even harder, and even then the change is hardly noticeable, all energy from the small robot lacking to give him even the opportunity to properly wail his distress.

            It is hard for her. His cry is so much like that of a human child’s. She has raised children of her own with cries just like this little omnic’s; she’d dedicate her entire night trying to calm their crying, to soothe them with gentle murmurs until they were lulled to sleep.

            It was hard to soothe this infant of wires and silver plating yet not grant him the gift of rest.

            That was the whole meaning behind his existence.

            To sleep only on the day of his death.

            She bounces him, careful not to go about it too gently lest she make it harder on the little omnic to stay awake.

            “Hey. Want to play a game? We can work on a puzzle; you still haven’t finished the puppies and kittens puzzle.” Of course he hadn’t. It was over 1000 pieces and the poor thing could barely keep himself sitting each time she brought it out. To ask him to try and find each individual piece that belonged in the necessary slot was a task almost impossible with the young omnic’s sleep and charge deprived mind. It took him at least two hours to fit together two pieces at a time.

            But he knew that if he didn’t help himself stay awake, then he’d just end up suffering through other means to force him into full alertness that only ever lasts a few seconds before he’s sniveling and dazed once more. So he nods and hides his face into the adult woman’s chest, knowing that he’s just going to be removed and shifted into a position where he can’t get too comfortable. All to keep him awake.

            He’s right, and he hates that he’s right. His head is pressed back and away from the warmth of her breasts, the rhythmic beating of her heart, and it’s all he can do to keep from falling from her arms when he weakly wails once more and bends over backwards with the limpness of his body.

            “You’re okay.”

            She knows he isn’t okay. The pitiful child will never be okay, not until she watches him die a peaceful death that she just knows will be his first and last experience with sleep.

            “I can’t stay with you this time, Beige. So I’m going to leave you on your own and will trust that you don’t fall asleep.”

            “No, no please-!” It’s unknown where he gets the strength, but the small fingers that had simply been pressed against her chest are suddenly curling into the fabric of her sweater, clutching desperately. “Stay! Stay with me, please, I don’t want-!”

            Its pitiful how easily she uncurls his fingers and how not even his hold on her wrists can keep her from plucking him off of her and gently setting him down onto the cold steel of one of many examination tables.

            Suddenly he’s screaming, static wringing his voice ear piercingly sharp and excruciating to listen to. Little legs kick wildly, trying in vain to keep the pristine clean table from touching his exposed steel bottom.

            “No! No, no, no!” Mint blue lights in neat rows of three stacked atop each other turn into a blurred block of light as the child shakes his head frantically, begging for mercy in the only way he knows how to. “I can stay awake! Don’t plug me! Please, please-!”

            The sob that is ripped out of him when she forces his hands off of her arms and lays him flat on the table is as broken as the engineer’s heart. Sweat dots the creases in her forehead as she attempts to go about the upcoming process as quickly as possible, to spare the omnic the uncomfortable nature of the situation. But whether or not her speed in things makes a difference is unclear; the child cries as much as any other time they have done this painstakingly familiar dance before.

            Off comes the golden sextagonal cover of his core, the ‘I’ shaped plating below joining it on the space on the table besides the small child soon afterwards. Defeated, the omnic lays limp on the surface, murmuring past heart wrenching whimpers and cries.

            “I’m so tired.” He repeats.

            Every night his begging gets worse.

            Every night that blaring in his little chrome head gets louder, demanding he sleep, deafening him so that all he can ever hear is that ping, ping, ping of his systems notifying him of the dangers his body is being put through.

            “I know, Beige. I know.”

            Fucking Christ does she know, and yet, she doesn’t at all. Not a single night goes by without the child of steel and wires bawling into his tiny fists, into her chest, anywhere he could. There were no tears to stain her shirt, no evidence that she was practicing such a morally twisted experiment on a child, of all things.

            Even when she had first come up with the idea and introduced it to various companies that both create the omnics and hold medical concern over them, she had been unsure of whether the concept was one worth putting into practice. Granted, it could save the lives of hundreds, maybe even thousands of the omnics that lived out in the world. But was it worth the death and suffering of handfuls of their own kind?

            This was the question that swam through the heads of so many human-testing scientists of the past. They have passed many a years ago, thousands of years ago, and yet even today their morality is being questioned.

            But it is for the safety of others, she tells herself again.

            Although her doings were confidential and hidden from the public eye, many omniums in the surrounding area were aware of her practices. Her guinea pig testing using their omnics. They had to know, they were the ones who she went to and requested omnic after omnic for her tests in turn for test results and conclusions.

            Normally they send her the most default of omnic models, with slits and little blue lights decorating the chrome of their head. There was nothing special to them. She received a good split between the old, bulky omnic models who most still donned a finger length antennae atop their head and the somewhat sleeker type that she could only really describe as having a more prominent “chin” than the older models did.

            But for her most recent experiment, where she had asked for one omnic, they sent her half of one.

            A little thing that barely reached past her knees, with a golden chin and a thick yellow blanket wrapped securely around his body to keep him warm from the bite of Minnesota wind. He was in the arms of her delivery personnel, yet to be activated.

            Bless the delivery man’s caring nature that he put a blanket on a not yet activated omnic. He must have bought it with his own money. And yet, the poor guy still had to deal with her fury when she saw what he had to give her, being the unfortunate soul to give whatever answers he could provide to her spitting questions and demands over why the _hell_ he brought her a child when the implication that she wanted an adult omnic, like every one of the omnics she has now, went unspoken yet obvious.

            The omnic stayed in the man’s arms, swaddled and held closely as if the bot were only a sleeping infant and not a soon to be guinea pig to the scientists’ experiments.

            The care he had for the powered off infant of an omnic, the way he held it closely and even bounced on the heels and toes of his shoes in the faintest rocking of his arms for the child while he tried in vain to answer her only fueled the flicking and burning flames of her anger.

            Not because of the fact that he was doing those things, but because he instinctually felt he had to.

            Because this omnic was a child.

            She too had held the inactive omnic in her arms as he had, phone to her ear and voice subconsciously hushed as if the infant slept and could awaken with just the volume of her voice. Her fury, however, was loud and clear in her words as she spoke to one of the higher ups of the factory she ordered the omnic from.

            It was a back and forth argument, anger from her side and reluctance yet a calm nature from the other side. Apparently, they had expected her to react the way she did, but proceeded to explain the true reasoning behind why they had sent her such a young, underdeveloped omnic.

            Depending on the topic of her upcoming test, the omniums and omnic health facilities work together to figure out which model of omnics suffer the most under whichever category she’d be testing; be it physical strain, over exertion, rust and wear, and so forth and would send her the model which is in the highest percentage of most struggling in the matter.

            And it seems that it is the omnic children who end up working themselves to death without any breaks for sleep and recharge more often than the adults.

            It did nothing to water down her fury.

            Not when every single day after he had been activated is filled with teary cries.

            Not when this child has to suffer by her hand.

            Not when he couldn’t even fully grasp the reason this was happening to him.

            Her other test subjects, they were adults. Of course, this didn’t mean that they always accepted that their life has been subjected to working as a lab rat for the sake of others, but. They understood. With or without consent, they were helping thousands of their kind lead healthier and better lives.

            But every time she tried to explain this to Beige, the little one, he’d just cry harder and shake his little head.

            It was no surprise that telling him his suffering was for a good cause would only make things harder on him, conflicting him. She regrets ever telling him, and yet-

            “You’re going to help so many little omnics all around the world, Beige.” It’s all she can say to him when she has him pinned to a cold, black examination table, intruding on his thin wires and plugging in things that should never be forced into an omnic as young as he, machines meant only for the hardest working omnics. Machines that have been banned worldwide under the reality that it was the omnic equivalent of a whip against the backs of working omnics.

            Forcing them to stay awake and continue their work with sharp white hot lightning bursts of pain.

            And yet, as trembling an action as it is, he nods his head.

            “O-Okay….okay….”

            The word is repeated with shaky, gasping breaths only ever meant to truly display the strain and struggle an omnic is under, swarming her mind with all the other noises she hears from him, from her test subjects, from everything each time she causes them pain and suffering.

            But the omnic health community needs this.

            This will save thousands of omnic lives.

            How many times has she told him this that he’s stopped saying ‘no’ and screaming his little head off and has started resigning himself to simply saying ‘okay’ and nodding like he thinks that will make this all finish quicker?

            Maybe he just doesn’t have the energy to fight it anymore.

            She leaves him like that, laying down on the table as black as she feels, connected to the ugly machine monitoring the activity spikes of his inner workings, ready to appropriately punish him with a controlled shock if the lines of his activity fluctuate downwards into a way that can only mean Beige has fallen asleep. The puzzle box, a bright and cheery green and yellow, is left open by the omnic’s side, there for him to work on whenever he wishes to.

            She makes her leave before she can hear the inevitable first shock administered to the young omnic. Her apprentice meets her outside of the joined rooms meant only for Beige, clipboard to his chest.

            “Miss Heath.” He greets, nodding politely. She walks past him and he follows.

            “Omnic H246’s joints have begun to lock up, the rust now too thick for her to bend her fingers and her knees are just starting to show signs of facing the same fate. Her hips, wrists, elbows, and all else are still fine though. Not great, but fine. The water is eating away at the edges of her steel plates.”

            “Thank you, Virgil.” Her eyes are unmoving, pointed forwards, shoulders tense.

            “Omnic H247, however, is still in decent shape.”

            “That is good.”

            He clicks his tongue and flips a few pages attached to his bright green plastic clipboard. “Yes, yes it is. Unfortunately, he has begun to lose some sense of sanity.” The burn in the back of her head lets the engineer know that his dark brown eyes are boring into her. “He now believes he is drowning whenever he is awakened, crying out for help and claiming that he cannot swim, all whilst he swims.”

            “Unfortunate.”

            “Very.”

            The young Asian boy continues to read off the results of the various other tests and the elder woman simply hums and mutters small words with each of his pauses in wait of her reaction. It takes her a while to notice he has stopped talking, and even longer to notice the falter in the second set of footsteps sounding with hers.

            “Miss Heath.”

            She turns to him, olive green eyes meeting coffee brown.

            “Omnic SC01’s inner workings are still being monitored,” He’s stalling and she knows it, her lips setting into a firm line and dark black brows furrowing.

            “I would hope so, Virgil, for that’s what all of your jobs are to do.” They face one another, his head nodding furiously in agreement.

            “Yes, yes. We have been monitoring him and, well…” A frown of his own plays at his lips, his thin, orange rimmed round glasses sliding down the rim of his nose. “If his…body continues the way it is, he will only have 36 hours left before his life starts to really teeter towards death. He may live longer, he may not. But it’s really going downhill from now on no matter what we do.”

            “I see.”

            The boy’s back straightens, eyes glancing every which way before landing on her own with a nervous twitch playing at the 19 year old’s lips.

            “That is, if certain parts of his are not replaced. But-! If we do-,”

            “Enough.” The word comes out sharp, the crease against her nose and the edge of her lips becoming more prominent. She points an olive brown finger at him. “The purpose of this test is not to see how long a child omnic can survive without sleep and with his parts being replaced; the purpose is to see how long he can survive without sleep, period.”

            He seems uncertain, brown eyes darting between her finger and her face.

            “Y-Yes, but-,”

            “But nothing.” The boy recoils at the hiss in her words, looking down at his clipboard and flipping through the papers as if there is something else for him to occupy himself with rather than face the female engineer’s anger. “We will do things as they were planned, to get the most accurate results.”

            She can see his adam’s apple bob with his swallow and it takes him a few seconds for him to find his words.

            “W-We are going to have to repeat this test if we wish to get accurate results, M-Miss Heath.” The serpent grip he has on his clipboard does nothing to still the trembles in his fingers.

            “That we will.”

            Where she was looming over the boy, now she stood straight and looked down her nose at him, as if she were disappointed that he expressed such concern over the fact that this test required repetition. But she understood, she understood his fear and the morals that kept him from wanting to keep this particular test from continuing its course- to allow the child omnic in question to pass.

            “Miss Heath…”

            She knows what’s coming, the boy is young and susceptible to impulsive decisions driven by extreme emotions. She would have done the same as he is doing now if she were more like him, long ago.

            “I-…I am so grateful that you have taken me into this force, to help omnics all over know better a-about their own bodies,” It pains her to hear his normally calm and intelligent voice quiver as it is now, sounding like his very emotions are strangling him. She spares him the effort of a long speech by rolling her hand and gesturing that he get to the point. “I…Miss Heath, I can’t keep doing this.”

            “Mm.”

            “It’s…it’s too unethical, Miss Heath! These omnics, they don’t know what’s going on!”

            “They know plenty well what their reason in existing is.” She corrects. Which has the boy exploding, flailing his arms in exasperation.

            “This is not their reason in existing, Miss Heath! You know it, I know it. Everybody knows it now; Omnics are sentient beings and their meaning in life is just the same as yours and mine.” He had taken a step forward, arching his back towards the older woman and pointing a slim finger to her. A quick narrowing of her sharp eyes and he was stepping back, losing his confidence and fiddling with his glasses.

            “I do not appreciate the tone and volume you are using with me, Virgil.” She spat his name out, making him flinch and duck his head. “To work in the science and health community requires witnessing many deaths, many illnesses, much suffering. If you believe that you cannot handle the likes of such, then there is only one solution to this conundrum.” Without allowing him a chance at a rebuttal, she spins on her heel and returns to walking the path to her office.

            “I expect your tag, remaining test results, coat, and so forth in my office by tomorrow.”

            Just like before, the woman can feel the boy’s heavy gaze on the back of her head.

            She leaves him anyways.

\---------------

            It was barely 4am when the dark skinned woman was awoken from her desk-nap within her office, hair frizzy and sticking every which way. She didn’t sleep well enough to drool and she didn’t know whether to be glad about that or to reflect on what kind of life she was living that lead to this.

            Looking to the source of her awakening reveals her only means of communication with the rest of her employees buzzing and chirping; a small round device displaying a hologram of the impending message. With a yawn, the woman grabs the little orange oblong communicator, bringing it closer and tapping along the hologram.

            SUBJ: SC01 LOW

            BODY: Good Morning Eliah Heath,

            Omnic SC01 is suffering irregular fluctuations in his activity spikes, more so than usual. As you have taken him as your ‘personal test subject’ it would be wise to check up on him right away. The fluctuations are reaching dangerously low levels.

            The second she read the subject name, Eliah stood and was making her way towards the little omnic’s test room, reading the text on the hologram as it bounced in her unsteady hold.

            The sight that met her when she entered the room she last left the little bot in would have made a better person scream. Someone who hadn’t seen this sort of thing far too many times, all the effect of her cause.

            As it is all she could do was stand in shock at the mutilated mess the little omnic made of himself. The wires of the ugly machine that monitored his inner workings were torn from where it had been plugged within himself. No omnic can accomplish the removal of the wires on their own, as the machine would deliver several near-lethal shocks.

            How the little thing could survive the feat, she didn’t know.

            Along with the cords, his facial plate was cast aside. Dented and clawed and damaged in so many places. Signs of an earlier struggle against himself.

            Had he attacked himself? Why?

            The wires and weak green plastics of his face were in no better condition. The boy was raking his short little fingers through the wires along his cheek at a snail’s pace, reaching up with his other hand to claw into the single rectangle of wispy blue light atop his head just as slowly.

            The very thing that kept any omnic or bot alive.

            Their heart, if you will. Or soul? It was often debated what it could compare to with humans.

            The motion was repeated several times.

            “Hey-hey!” She yells, rushing to him and yanking him off the table underneath the pits, giving him a shake. “The hell? What did you do?”

            No longer is it cute little upwards slanting slits that stare up at her, but instead the exposed sensors and the tiniest of optic lenses. His head tilts back and he stares up at her in silence for a long while. His arms are limp, hands at his side.

            Now holding the omnic this closely, she can better see the damage he had inflicted on his own chest. Without the covering and in his attempts to rip out the plugs that kept him awake, Beige had torn and frayed several other wires, fizzing and popping in the exposed air. She could see where he raked his fingers against his circuit board, against every single one of his most sensitive mechanical workings.

            He didn’t seem pained at all. He just seemed drowsy. Yet-

            The joints in his body locked up, every one of his limbs growing rigid before jerking uncontrollably as the boy seized as if he were being electrocuted. He let out nothing more than a pained moan as his limbs quivered before he fell lifeless once more.

            Moving him to be cradled in one arm while she snatches up his discarded body parts, Eliah is quick to take him out of what she and Beige have donned the “puzzle” room and instead takes him to the adjoined room. She sets him down on the table, laying him on his back and setting his discarded pieces aside.

            When she comes back to him after scavenging the room for the necessary tools to repair his faceplate and reattach it, Beige is sitting up. She pushes him back down, gently, but then he starts crying and pushing against her hand.

            “Beige, I need you to lay down so I can fix you back up.”

            He says nothing and only cries harder, struggling to push her hands away. The strength he uses to do so is so weak, Eliah lets her hands be pushes away only for a little moment. She feels like the devil himself for causing this omnic so much suffering.

            “I don’t….” The omnic’s falling back now, holding on to Eliah’s arms. “I don’t want it….I’m tired.”

            “Shush. Enough of that.” Not liking at all what the little thing is implying with those words, the engineer pushes Beige back the rest of the way. Laying him flat on his back and immediately getting to work.

            Those little legs move in weak bicycle kicks, trying in vain to push her away. She tries to ignore it.

            Years of experience let her know that for an omnic, getting something as delicate as a faceplate reattached is no walk in the park; it requires the bot to be shut down lest they suffer through unnecessary pain.

            Beige stays awake.

            He only cries softly for the entire thing.

**Author's Note:**

> im really excited to get this written down and i hope to actually....update it. i hope you like it!!! tell me what you think C:


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